Ace Combat 5, The Dragon's Tale
by Son Of Liberty
Summary: An Osean pilot joins Wardog squadron when his squad is shot down. He helps and becomes one of the Razgriz as they fly through the unsung war.
1. Default Chapter

Ace Combat 5  
The Dragon's Tale  
A Pilot's Experience of the Unsung War

I do not own AC5

1.

"All right, listen up nuggets!" the captain's voice was unpleasantly loud this early. Private Drake Draca opened his eyes but closed them quickly, due to the blinding light. He yawned and got out of his bunk rubbing his eyes. "This is going to be your first flight patrol. Just stay close to me. I want you all up in the air in five minutes!" Drake mumbled something like, "yeah yeah," as he got dressed. He was a small man in stature, only 4' 5," and had obsidian hair that tended to stick out in odd directions.

Five minutes later Drake was wide awake as he flew in formation. He had a natural feel for aviation and was itching to get his training over with so he could fly for real. It was boring doing all the drills over and over in this cold land. Not to mention he hated flying the standard issue F-5's they all had.  
"Wildcat squad, there is a squadron of bogies in your area, investigate immediately." The voice blaring over the radio broke Drake's revere.  
"Dammit not now. Zephyr, Watchman, come with me. Private… Draca was it?" The captain was talking to him.  
"That's my name although I'd prefer to be called Crimson Dragon."  
"Anyways, I'm putting you in charge of getting you nuggets back to the airfield. We'll take care of the bogies. Can you handle it?"  
"Yes sir!" Drake took the lead position as the three planes flew off. This was his time to shine. He directed his fellow nuggets back towards the base in fine orderly fashion. Suddenly his missile warning alarm went off.  
"Watch out, you got a missile on your tail!" one of his wingmen warned. Drake swerved and weaved but was unable to lose it. It blew up on his right elevator.  
"Ahh, damn I'm hit!" Drake tried to turn his plane. It wasn't too responsive. Checking his radar Drake's heart sunk even lower at the sight of two unfriendly blips on it. One was right on his tail and closing. "Crap, what to do, what to do?" He heard the hum of a machine gun and realized just how close the bandit was to him. Without thinking he pushed the throttle to the stops and rocketed away from his pursuer. However the enemy quickly caught up with him and was threatening to overtake him. In a split second Drake hit the airbrakes and inclined the nose up. The bandit shot out from under him and on instinct Drake mashed the missile release button on his joystick twice. Two missiles homed in and blasted the bandit right in front of his eyes. He watched in disbelief as the wreckage dropped and crashed into the ground.  
"That was amazing Drake!" his best friend, Izumi Yunisaki, called over the radio. Drake smiled and checked his radar, the only showings were his wingmen.  
"Where'd the other plane go?"  
"They bugged out when they saw you blast their friend."  
"Splash one then," Drake replied as his heart rate reduced. "How am I looking?"  
"Your right elevator is bent and it looks like your fuel's leaking," Izumi called as he checked under Drake's plane. The ECM crackled and Drake turned it up.  
"Air tower to wildcat squad, respond."  
"Yeah, this is wildcat four, what can I do for you?"  
"What happened? We saw two hostile planes near you, now they're gone."  
"Uh yeah, I splashed one and the other boogied out."  
"you do know you engaged a target without authorization right?"  
"I took damage in that skirmish requesting immediate clearance to land," Drake said ignoring the question.  
"You are five miles from the base, can it wait?" was his response.  
"My elevator doesn't work and I'm leaking fuel goddamn it. I need clearance now so everyone'll get off the flipping strip!" The radio man sighed, "Okay clearance granted." When he got to Heirelark he managed to put his bird down despite the damage. As he got out he was approached by an MP.  
"Come with me," he said as he grabbed Drake's shoulder and roughly pushed him toward the offices.  
"Hey, what's going on?" Drake asked.  
"Commander wants to see you."


	2. A New Plane

I still don't own AC5  
2.  
A New Plane

Drake was pushed roughly into the office of the base commander, Lieutenant Colonel William Zeag.  
"How rude," Drake tossed over his shoulder as the marine closed the door.  
"Airman First Class Drake Draca, is that correct?" the Lieutenant said reading from a file on his desk.  
"That's my name and rank," Drake replied.  
"Have a seat Drake," Zeag said in a pleasant tone.  
"Sure, what's up Billy," Drake asked as he sat down in the chair in front of the desk.  
"Do you realize," Zeag's voice shifted from pleasant to cold contempt, "the trouble you're in?"  
"I was hoping you'd enlighten me."  
"You splashed a target without authorization," Zeag yelled, "You disobeyed a direct order to return to base, and you damaged an expensive piece of equipment!"  
"yeah, those are the cheapest planes ever," Drake muttered under his breath.  
"Do you realize how serious this is? Well let me put it in perspective; you'll be lucky to get away with your hide." As he said the last part his voice dropped to a whisper.  
"Don't really need my hide, as long as I've got a bird."  
"You…" the lieutenant started but was interrupted by the phone ringing. "Hello? Yes, uh huh, yes, okay, goodbye. Well Drake," he said as he hung up the phone, "consider yourself one lucky bastard."  
"Why's that?" Drake asked puzzled.  
"Because you're now the ranking pilot on this base. Congratulations, Second-Lieutenant." Drake was dumbstruck for a minute.  
"Wait a second, what happened to the captain?"  
"Shot down, along with Zephyr and Watchman. Your quick action saved your wingmen. Against every instinct that's telling me to fry your ass I have to go with the department's decision. Your plane is going to need repairing so I guess you get a new one. As the tradition, you pick it yourself."  
"Thank you sir," Drake said relieved.  
"Just get out of here," Bill said tiredly.

At the hangers Drake was perusing the available planes. One particular jet caught his eye.  
"What's that one?" he asked a mechanic.  
"That's an F-15 S. Only one we've got, best craft too. Wanna take it for a test flight?"  
"Yeah."

"Yeeeeeeehhaaaaaaa!" Drake yelled as he rocketed along at the speed of sound. He pulled an immelman and turned back toward the base.  
"So what do you think of it?" the mechanic asked over the radio.  
"This is wonderful, it responds to the slightest touch. What's its payload?"  
" That has the all purpose missiles and a XMAA payload. It can lock on to four different airborne targets."  
"Sounds useful. Wrap it up, I'll take it."


	3. Wardog Squad

3.  
Wardog Squadron

The next day Drake was proudly flying in front of his squad in his new F-15. The others were flying in MiGs, and were a little resentful.  
"So tell me again, Dragon," Yunisaki, callsign Little Wing, asked, "why you get a new plane and we're stuck with these?"  
"Because Little, my old plane is damaged. Relax, you guys just have to shoot down any planes that try to trash our boats." The mission was simple, along with every squad in the air force they had to protect the three carriers Kestrel, Buzzard, and Vulture. So far the escort mission had been a bore, nothing had happened yet. Drake flipped his plane over and watched upside-down as the three carriers slowly merged into a loose convoy.  
"All squadrons this is Thunderhead, your mission is complete, you may return to your bases now. If you need to refuel please hold for the tanker aircraft." Drake dropped through a split-S, turning around towards his base. His squadron turned around and reformed into a right echelon formation.  
"Everybody's leaving, can we go yet?" some joker from Wardog squadron asked over the radio.  
"Wardog I told you to wait for the tanker aircraft." Drake snickered away from his mike at the antics of Wardog and Thunderhead.  
"Come on Wildcat, lets AB it back to base."  
"Why's that Dragon?" Jordan Steelbache, nicknamed Big Wing, questioned.  
"Because Big, its pizza night, and I'm starving." That statement was met with laughter and amens from Drakes wingmen. They all advanced their throttles to the stops and turned on the after burners. Despite the effect of the cancellers in his helmet Drake still made out the combined sonic boom as they all rocketed past mach 1.  
"Wait, all units return to your stations, the carriers are under attack," suddenly blared in his ears.  
"Big, Little, come with me, everyone else, hightail it back to base," Drake exclaimed faster than he could think. The three whipped around and flew back to Eaglin Strait. Once there Drake could see a fierce battle going on. Up above he spotted another plane, apparently trying to stay out of harm.  
"Is that an E-767?" Little asked spotting it too.  
"I think it is. Come on Little, we're gonna bag us a 767." Both of them rose to engage the plane as Big dropped to shoot down the Harriers that were harassing the fleet. As he passed through 7000 feet Drake came level with the enemy plane. He slowly sped up till he had a missile lock-on, then quickly popped two off and gave a quick burst from his machine gun. The 767 blew up and went down.  
"Yeeha, great shot Drake!" Exclaimed Little.  
"Thanks Izumi. Lets go…"  
"Area sanitized, all enemy planes confirmed destroyed," Thunderhead cut him off.  
"Thank you Dunderhead," Drake said sardonically.  
"Wait, incoming ballistic missile!" Drake started and looked down in time to see a gigantic explosion annihilate a carrier and several planes, including Big's.  
"Jooorrrdaaaan!" Little yelled as Drake watched the burning piece of metal that used to be Big's plane splash into the ocean. The Vulture sank into the waves also and Drake was stunned. He never knew the Yukes had such powerful weaponry in their arsenal.  
"Another missile approaching, get above 5000 feet before it hits," Thunderhead roared.  
"Are they sure it's 5000 feet?" another member of Wardog squadron asked.  
"Yes Archer, I'm sure," the leader responded. Thunderhead started counting down.  
"5... 4... 3... 2... Impact, now!" Another ballistic missile detonated underneath Drake and he watched in horror as the Buzzard was blasted and sunk. He breathed so hard he had to put on his oxygen mask to keep from hyperventilating. He then became aware that he was leaving the area and corrected his course.  
"All surviving units, report," Thunderhead said haltingly.  
"This is Swordsman, I managed to stay alive. Looks like the Wardog squadron manage to make it out too," Captain Snow from the Kestrel replied."  
"Dragon here, my wingman from Wildcat squad and myself are still flying."  
"Uh, oh, looks like I'm out of fuel," one guy in Wardog said.  
"I'm out too Chopper," the leader said.  
"We couldn't get a tanker aircraft out to you Wardog. Wildcat, would you mind escorting Wardog to Heirlark?"  
"Will do Thunderhead. Wardog, this is Wildcat One, callsign Dragon. Can I get you names?"  
"This is Wardog One, callsign Blaze. Pleasure to meet you."  
"Wardog Two here, my name's Edge."  
"You have a very lovely voice miss Edge."  
"Thank you Dragon."  
"This is Wardog three, otherwise know as Chopper."  
"And I'm Wardog Four, Archer."  
"I'm honored to meet you all. Form up behind me and my wing." Drake and Izumi proceeded north in right echelon while Wardog followed behind in four fingers.  
"Tower to approaching aircraft, identify. Drake? Is that you?"  
"it's me Joe. We lost Jordan, but we've got guests."  
"Oh really, who?"  
"Wardog squadron from Sand Island. We need clearance to land."  
"Granted. They'll need to see commander Zeag when they get on the ground."  
"Wilco."


	4. Scinfaxi

4  
Scinfaxi

Wardog left a few days later with all the nuggets. The base seemed more empty, but Drake had little time to notice. Wildcat was on constant patrols with the war going on. He didn't really see why, while Osea and Belka weren't on the best of terms, they still were at peace. On one such patrol Drake decided to alleviate the boredom by running combat maneuvers training. He finished a flip from Little's right to his left side thereby avoiding another pilot who whizzed by.  
"Yahoo! Nice maneuver captain," Little called over the radio.  
"Thanks, I'm pretty good at avoidance maneuvers."  
"Hey why don't you do that one technique, the one you invented?" one of his wingmen requested.  
"Okay, but only if Izumi will help me demonstrate," Drake replied happily.  
"Aw man, do I have to?" Little whined.  
"As your captain I order you to try and keep up," Drake said with mock severity. He shot off as Little followed in his SU-37, another fine aircraft but one Drake didn't care much for. He slowly advanced the throttle and pulled away from Izumi, who in turn sped up.  
"Ha ha, I've got you," Izumi said.  
"No you don't," Drake retorted as he retracted the throttle and engaged the air brakes, while pulling his plane into a slight climb. Little zoomed under him as he leveled his plane and pushed the throttle to the stops. His wingmen cheered as both Drake and Izumi pulled a series of intricate loops that brought the machines extremely close together several times. Then the base controller interrupted their little air show.  
"Hierlark to Wildcat, come in."  
"This is Wildcat One, what's on your mind Glasgow?" Drake asked the tower radio operator Joe Glasgow.  
"Return to base immediately for emergency briefing."  
"Will do. Wildcat," Drake said to his squad, "Form up on me, we're going back home." The planes formed into a right echelon and turned back toward their base.

Once they were all on the ground the pilots made their way to the briefing area, a small room with executive chairs set up around a projector and screen. A map of the operation area, which was out in the Ceres Ocean near Sand Island, was displayed on the screen.  
"As we speak," base commander William Zeag started once everyone was seated, "the Yukes have launched a massive assault meant to establish a beachhead on mainland Osea. Sand Island happened to be in the way of the advancing naval units. Wardog is currently engaging the forces but we're not sure how long they can hold them off. Your job will be to provide assistance to them if necessary when you reach the area. Osean international has already scrambled a refueling plane to get you there and back. That is basically it, just get to your planes and scramble." Everyone began leaving to get ready but Zeag wasn't done. "Drake and Izumi, would you see me before you take off?" The two looked at each other with dread and followed the commander to his office. They all sat down around his desk and he cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I just wanted to tell you that due to your recent exemplary conduct in battle, and continual efforts to train your fellow pilots, both of you have earned promotions." All three men stood up and Zeag pinned a set of bars on Drake's and Izumi's uniforms. "Congratulations first and second lieutenants, may you continue to be a shining example for the air force.  
"Thank you sir," both men said as they saluted commander Zeag. He saluted them back.  
"Now, go make me proud. Good luck on the field of battle." They then exited to change and take off.

Thirty minutes later Drake disengaged from the tanker aircraft with enough fuel to last him the mission. Midair refueling were tedious under the best of circumstances, nerve-racking at the worst. Another problem was the lack of consistency with the aircraft design, another tanker had to be sent to refuel Little's plane along with a few others'. The air force planes, which his was one of, simply had to fly up behind the tanker and an arm was extended into the hole of his gas tank, which then refueled his plane. The navy jets however, had a little nozzle on their planes that they had to insert into what was affectionately known as the "basket," a hose with a basket shaped head. This little maneuver was considered "practice for shore leave," by those perverted enough to make that connection. As he watched Izumi get his plane refueled, Drake noticed the process did look like intercourse almost. Then he dispelled that thought as Izumi finished and rejoined the formation.  
"Good luck out there Wildcat," one of the tanker pilots said. He saluted then both planes turned back toward their bases. Wildcat continued on toward the coast and the battle that was probably raging right then. Drake contemplated what it all meant; peace, war, life, flying. His thoughts were interrupted by Izumi.  
"A penny for your thoughts, Dragon?"  
"What Little?"  
"You've got your plane upside down." Drake then realized he had unconsciously inverted his plane, a position that helped him think. "Now either you're enjoying the scenery, or you're trying to think. I'm betting on the latter."  
"I'm sorry, I just got in a philosophical mood," Drake responded as he righted his plane.  
"No time for philosophy now, we're approaching the coast," Casper Jenkins, callsign 'Jynx' replied. A sandy beach flashed under them and then they were over the ocean.  
"Wildcat squad, feet wet," Drake said over the radio to the AWACS.  
"Roger Wildcat, proceed with your operation," Thunderhead replied. They continued on, but Drake got an increasing sense of discomfort. His fear was well founded, when, all of a sudden, six planes dropped from the sky and converged on his squadron.  
"Wildcat, split off and engage!" he ordered as the unknown aircraft opened fire on them. Everyone dispersed and began dogfighting the attackers. Only Drake and Izumi however, stood any chance of resisting them. Drake barrel rolled as a missile flashed past his canopy. He jerked the control stick back and pulled off an Immelman. He caught his tail by surprise, and sent a missile right through the bastard's canopy. He reveled in the explosion behind him as he avoided a return shot from a friend of the one time pilot.  
"I need a little help over here!" Izumi screamed as he went into a steep climb that defeated a missile. Drake flipped over to help his friend, but his determination turned to horror as he watched a missile shoot straight up Izumi's tailpipe and explode. "Drake, I'm sorry…" were his last words. Then his plane blew up and Drake watched as his one best friend went up in a blast of fire and metal.  
"Izumi," Drake whispered, "NOOOOOOOOO!" His voice trailed off as tears welled up in his eyes. He then remembered he was surrounded by hostile forces, and they didn't seem to care about his friend's death. He dodged a series of missiles and almost smacked into the water. As he yanked back on the stick to gain some altitude he switched over to the designated emergency frequency. "Thunderhead, this is Wildcat One, I need assistance," his voice registering hysteria. "My whole squad has been shot down and I've got bandits all over my ass."  
"Roger Dragon, we're sending someone to you now."  
"Oh and, buster, buster, buster!" Drake screeched as he barrel rolled away from an enemy that tried stiff-arming him. 'Buster' meant, 'hurry, bust your ass.' Drake finally broke away and kicked in the afterburners as he retreated toward the battle taking place near Sand Island. A missile exploded off his left wing, a blast that sent a piece of shrapnel through the Plexiglas canopy. It slashed across Drakes left hand and plinked under the seat. "Damn," he said as he took his hand off the stick to examine it. The shard had cut through his thin flight glove and traced a line across the back of his hand. Blood was trickling out of the injury but it wasn't anything serious. All of a sudden a blinding light flashed above him, and it was only his razor sharp reflexes that saved him from being split in half. "What the hell was that?" he shouted to no one.  
"Explosion in the water," a voice over his radio called.  
"Look, the Scinfaxi has surfaced." Drake looked behind him to see a massive submarine shoot out of the waves.  
"Second Lieutenant Draca, is that you?" a familiar voice asked.  
"Blaze?" Drake asked incredulous.  
"Ha ha, it is you! How are you doing?"  
"Not too well, my squad bought the farm and I'm trashed."  
"You can go to our base for repairs," Edge said. Wardog was engaging the sub and planes that launched from it.  
"Hell no, I'd miss the party," Drake replied coolly. As much as his plane protested he managed to turn it around and set it on an attack dive. As soon as he had a lock on he let off two missiles and pulled out. It was a ponderous arc that just barely missed the conning tower of the sub. He let the others finish it off and got up to 6000 feet. As he twiddled the knob on his radio he came across an interesting conversation.  
"We lost him in the battle," one pilot said.  
"Find him, we can't let him escape," another said. His voice was low and cold, it sent chills down Drake's spine.  
"I can't find him," a third person said.  
"Uhg, you people make me sick. Okay Grabacr, lets go home." Something about that exchange put Drake ill at ease. But he had no time to ponder it, his comrades in the sky had finished off the Scinfaxi.  
"Hey Drake, we're all done here. Why don't you come home with us?" Blaze invited.  
"Sounds good, I'll need repairs on my plane." Drake gently oriented his bird alongside Wardog and limped along with them back to Sand Island.


	5. A New Home

5.  
A New Home

A few days after the battle with the Scinfaxi Drake was given a choice: fly with Wardog on a patrol or give an interview with their journalist. Since going on the patrol means he'd be flying an F-5, he opted for the interview. As the others were coming out of the ready room Drake walked in. Nagasei flashed him a smile as they passed. Inside Drake sat down in a seat across a table from the journalist, Gennet.  
"Relax Drake," Gennet reassured. Drake hadn't thought he looked nervous. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions.  
"And I'll answer as best I can," Drake replied nonchalantly. (Since the setting will not change I will just put their names before what was said to save the trouble of, 'he said then they said')  
Gennet: So, how long have you been flying?  
Drake: About three years now. I received my commercial flying license and piloted small business flights.  
Gennet: So you like flying?  
Drake: Flying is my life. I knew how to fly before I could walk.  
Gennet: I'm sure that made nursing interesting.  
Drake: Eh, I just kinda hovered there.  
Both men laugh.  
Gennet: What is the hardest part of flying in your opinion?  
Drake: Quite frankly I think the hardest part of flying is actually keeping the bird in the air. But, landing might be the worst part about it.  
Gennet: how so?  
Drake: Because you have to hit a strip about three miles long and fifty feet across with so many factor going against you. And don't even get me started on carrier landings…  
Gennet: I won't. What is you lineage?  
Drake: My mom was an Osean propulsion engineer working with a company contracted with Grunder industries. My dad was a Belkan flying ace that tooled airplane motors there.  
Gennet: So you lived in North Osea?  
Drake: South Belka my dad called it. We moved further south when I was about ten. Mom got a job as a professor at the community college while dad took to construction. He died a year later in a work accident. But whenever I'd try to justify a rash action I did mom would always say, "That's your dad talking."  
Gennet: Sounds like she loved your father.  
Drake: Yes she did.  
Gennet: What do you think of the war?  
Drake: Not much, it gives me a reason to be in the air, and I want to be in the air.  
Gennet: Well that about does it. I hear the others coming back now. Thanks for your time.  
Drake: No problem.


	6. A Good Deed

6.  
A good Deed 

A week later the story was published in a local newspaper. Drake didn't get a chance to read it. The day it was published the vice president decided to launch a massive counter assault against the Yuktobanians, and Wardog would be integral in the offensive. His plane still in maintenance, Drake was forced to use the spare F-5. He was a little sore at this, but ultimately saw complaining would get him nowhere. He flew in formation as Wardog kept an overwatch of the four companies advancing on the beach.  
"Get ready, we're about to land," one commander said over the radio.  
"So we just have to keep the guys on the ground alive, right?" Drake asked.  
"Right Dragon, knock out any enemy planes and provide close air support to the ground forces," Thunderhead responded.  
"Wardog feet dry," Blaze called.  
"Roger, proceed with operations."  
"Everyone, split up and engage. All weapons hot," Blaze ordered.  
"Wilco," Edge, Chopper, and Archer said. Drake clicked his mike twice, the way to acknowledge something when you're busy. Drake flipped the arm switch on the master armament panel for the bombs his plane carried on the racks underneath his wings. Rain splattered on the canopy and blurred Drake's vision. Tracers began flying around on the ground as the Osean forces began fighting the Yuktobanian defenders.  
"We're being held up by bunkers, pilots could you take them out?" someone from company A said.  
"Will do. Dragon, can you handle it?" Blaze asked Drake.  
"I'm all over it," Drake replied. He set his plane on an attack dive at a bunker. When he had it in the bombing reticule he jammed the button on his joystick and dropped a bomb right through the window. The concrete building exploded into tiny fragments as Drake pulled up. On pullout he skimmed the top of a pine tree on the hill behind the bunker. "whoa, that was close."  
"Dragon, please try to keep yourself alive while dive bombing, thank you," Chopper called over the radio. That guy was a clown, but he was right.  
"Enemy planes inbound," Edge said. Interceptors and bombers were coming from the mainland side to halt the invasion force. Drake did an Immelman and popped two missiles at a nearby A-6. It fell to earth in a large fireball as three planes started harassing Drake.  
"Aww, come on! These guys are all over me," Drake yelled. He rolled as a missile shot past his right wing. His plane shuddered as it was riddled with bullets. Then a missile blew up and trashed his left wing.  
"Damn, I'm hit!" Drake screamed. Alarms were going off all over his panel: oil pressure warning, hydraulic pump failure, fuel leaking. The bird was dying.  
"Drake get out of there," Edge pleaded, "You need to eject."  
"Yeah, this bird's trashed. I'm blasting off, just one thing though." He wrestled with the controls to set his jet on a crash course with a bunker. He rooted around the cockpit for anything he could take along, and found a wrench. Wondering how that got there he slipped it into one of his cargo pockets and ripped the lever to release the ejection seat. He blasted through the canopy and everything was a blur of motion for a minute. Then there was a wrenching in his gut as his parachute deployed. Drake took a deep breath as he looked up and saw the canopy reassuringly above him. As he approached the forest under him he located and pressed the buttons to release his seat. It fell away with a thump and his descent slowed down a little bit. Finally he passed through the foliage, unfortunately his parachute got stuck on a branch. After a bone jarring jolt Drake hung there with the sounds of battle echoing around the misty forest.  
"Oh great, this day can't get any worse," he said to himself. He grunted as he reached for the survival knife in one of his pockets. When he retrieved it he sliced one of the risers of the parachute, then the other. He fell ungracefully to the ground and landed with a thud. He quickly got up and checked himself for any broken bones. there was none. All of a sudden there was rustling in some bushes nearby. Drake pulled out the .45 pistol he had and listened closely.  
"Flash," someone whispered. Drake wheeled around and quickly said, "Thunder." Some more rustling, and then seven marines emerged from the bushes. The one that approached Drake was a handsome man with tousled hair and five o'clock shadow. He had an extra M-16 rifle slung across his back while he held his rifle loosely in his left hand.  
"You a flyboy?" he asked Drake. Drake exhaled hotly at the comment.  
"Yes I'm a pilot."  
"Well, not much of one if you're on the ground," the man pointed out, "Here you're just an ordinary soldier."  
"That is true, unfortunately I'm a little unprepared."  
"Here you go," the man said swinging the extra rifle off his shoulder and handing it to Drake, "That was our captain's. He got shot as soon as we dropped in. I did the best I could, but his dying wish was I give someone his rifle who needed it. By the way, I'm second lieutenant George Peters."  
"First Lieutenant Drake Draca," Drake replied shaking George's hand. He caught a magazine another soldier tossed him and locked it in the rifle.  
"All right. See that bunker over there?" he pointed to one about a football field away, "We're trying to secure it. Need to knock out their communications and, of course, kill any enemies inside. We have no good solutions to getting the radio without going through everyone there, and by then they'll have called for backup. Any ideas?" Drake thought for a minute then had a flash of inspiration.  
"I've got it, we'll just need a few things…" 

Because of the invasion guard detail was cut to two Yuktobanian soldiers standing outside the bunker. One noticed the bushes nearby rustling.  
"See that?" he asked his partner.  
"No," the other mumbled sounding bored.  
"I'm gonna check it out." He crept up to the foliage, weapon leveled at the bushes. As he pushed through the brush a pair of hands seized him and he was struck a heavy blow on the head. He passed out and Drake gently laid him on the ground.  
"Good, good, now help me with his uniform." 

Later the other guard saw his partner stumble from the bushes. Something was wrong, he was hunched over with his collar covering his face. His uniform didn't look too well fitting anymore.  
"What happened?" he asked.  
"Nothing," his partner said. His voice sounded different.  
"You all right comrade? You seem different."  
"Well now that you mention it," the man said walking up, "I had a revelation."  
"What was it?"  
"You suck," He held up a silenced pistol and fired twice. The guard fell shocked, shot in the head and chest. Drake turned around and signaled the marines with a thumbs up. Over his survival radio Peters said, "All right. We'll sit here till you call us on their talkbox."  
"Wish I could have gotten some better fitting clothes," Drake replied. "Anyways I'm off. Thanks for the silencer."  
"If I don't hear from you I'll understand."  
"Call in an airstrike if you don't in an hour." 

Drake walked cautiously through the bunker, wary for any soldiers. His purloined uniform was fitted for a taller person and bunched up in places. He had the stolen rifle at low ready, trying to blend in to an empty corridor. He saw a Yuktobanian coming the other way, and prayed that his disguise worked.  
"Excuse me, could you tell me where the radio room is?" he asked hoping his accent sounded right.  
"Uh, yeah, down the hall second doorway on the right," the soldier said pointing down the way he came.  
"Thank you." The man took a last look at Drake before he went on, giving Drake a funny feeling. He set it aside and kept going until he came to a group of doorways. He walked into the one the soldier had indicated and found a single man operating the radio. Drake crept up silently then bashed the man over the head with his wrench.  
"Thought that would come in handy," he said to himself. He checked to make sure no one heard then moved to the console. He toggled the frequency knob to the marine unit's then said into the mic, "Radio secure. Come in hot and fast." After he finished he swung his rifle around and slapped in a magazine. A Yuktobanian rushed in and Drake leveled his gun and squeezed the trigger. The soldier dropped as the kick nearly knocked Drake off his feet. He heard the sounds of gunfire coming from down the hall. "I'm in here!" he yelled. Two more Yukes came in and were dispatched almost as quickly. Soon the gunshots ceased and Peters walked in calmly.  
"Nice job Draca," he said kicking one of the bodies on the floor. "You really did us a favor." He was interrupted by his radio going off and several voices talking at once. "Looks like we won, operation: Footprint was a success." Drake laughed with Peters as the others congratulated and slapped each other on the back.  
"Excellent Lieutenant. Its been a pleasure working with you."  
"You too. Now lets get you back to your base, come on, your stuff's outside." 

After he had put his flight suite back on Drake was walking with Peters through the impromptu central HQ. He was carrying his helmet bag, which had the Yuke uniform, his helmet, the wrench, and his pistol. He had his two rifles slung on his back. As he went along he kept asking, "Going to Sand Island? Can I get a ride to Sand Island? Heading my way?"  
"Hey, you say you need to get to Sand Island?" someone shouted. Drake turned to see a marine sitting on the edge of a helicopter looking at him.  
"Yeah I could use a lift," he replied.  
"Hop on, we're heading that way." Drake jumped on and the marine yelled, "Hit it Steve!" The helicopter roared and lifted off.  
"Welcome onboard," another marine said. In all there were about twenty in the space.  
"So tell me how you ended up down here," the first guy said.  
"Today wasn't my day. Everyone seemed to be on my case up there."  
"So tell me why a pilot needs two rifles?" a third man said.  
"Those are sorta souvenirs," Drake shrugged.  
"So this Yuke uniform is a souvenir too?" someone else said rooting though Drake's helmet bag.  
"Hey," Drake replied grabbing his gear. Everyone on the chopper laughed at the antics.  
"Sand Island coming up. ETA five minutes," the pilot yelled back.  
"Nixie you'd better get the door," one guy said to the first man.  
"Sure," Nixie replied. He slid the door open and a rush of air blasted through the cabin. Drake watched the sea whizz past underneath. Soon islands started passing by and then an airstrip.  
"Sand Island tower, we have one of your pilots, just thought we'd return him for you," the pilot said over the radio.  
"Drake? Hey bring him in, we'd hoped someone would find him." Everyone had a laugh as the helicopter slowed down and landed. 

"That's one hell of a story Draca, and I think there might just be a commendation for you," base commander Orson Perrault said as Drake finished his account of what happened after he ejected.  
"Thank you sir," Drake replied saluting.  
"After all that I'm sure you're tired. Get some rest now Second Lieutenant." They both saluted, then Drake walked out. He was greeted by Blaze, Edge, Chopper, and Archer outside the office.  
"Hey man glad to have you back," Chopper said as he noogied Drake.  
"Well I'm glad to be back," Drake replied breaking the headlock. Blaze shook Drake's hand and patted him on the back.  
"That was a great thing you did back there," he said.  
"Yeah really brave," Nagasei added. Drake blushed slightly.  
"Aw, just doing my duty," Drake replied.  
"We got a party going for you in the mess hall," Archer declared.  
"Well what are we waiting for?" Drake asked. They all laughed and went to join the party.  



	7. Blindsided

7.  
Blindsided 

The next day, Wardog was flying in a remote region of Yuktobania. Drake was finally back in his beloved F-15, which had been finished the night before. Drake had declared it better than before during the test to make sure it was combat worthy. It now responded to a very light touch, and he had even added a tuner to pick up civilian radio signals. He was currently listening to some rock music with the volume all the way up.  
"Wardog, cleared to engage enemy transports," Thunderhead said. Drake barely caught it, and clicked his mic twice.  
"Dragon, everything okay?" Blaze asked. Drake turned down the volume before answering.  
"Yeah everything's fine," he replied.  
"Lieutenant Draca, turn off that music," Thunderhead ordered.  
"Hey man lighten up, if he wants to rock on he should," Chopper said in Drake's defense. Thunderhead grumbled and said nothing else.  
"Transports and escorts up ahead," Blaze called. Drake saw them on the radar, but something was wrong.  
"Amazing!" Edge exclaimed. There were an ungodly amount of target on his radar, and Drake's HUD was red with planes.  
"Do you think every plane is up there?" Archer asked.  
"Well lets ask them, 'Hey how many planes you got there?' Man this is makin me cry," Chopper replied.  
"There couldn't be that many people," Drake commented. He locked onto a signature and popped off a missile. The projectile, however, passed right through the target. "What the hell?" he shouted.  
"I think I've got it," Archer commented. Drake rolled out of the way of a barrage of gunfire as he listened.  
"Well do share your keen insights, huh, what's up?" Chopper asked.  
"First Lieutenant Chopper, jammer aircraft," Archer replied.  
"That's it! I'm going upstairs for a bit," Drake declared. He rose up to 20,000 feet started looking around for jamming planes. He soon saw an airplane with a large dish on it's back. That had to be one of them. He unloaded two missiles and ten seconds of 30mm chaingun fire. Fire sprouted from the fuselage and the plane fell to earth. Drake smiled with satisfaction and flew on in his search for more jammers. Below, his wingmates were engaging the enemy, and voiced their thanks when a few of the radar hits disappeared.   
"Dragon, you seem to have things covered. Keep on the lookout for any more jamming aircraft."  
"Rodger, I'll lift this curtain of deceit that they lowered." Drake flew around a little until his radar picked up another jammer straight ahead. He primed up a heat seeking missile, locked on to the signature, and let it fly. The missile detonated right on the aircraft, causing decompression and subsequent loss of altitude. Static had been building up on his radio ever since the mission began, but by that point it had gotten so Drake couldn't hear his wing mates clearly enough. He had lost the civilian signal long ago. Chopper said something to Blaze, but the transmission was severely garbled.  
"ECCM restore communication link!" Thunderhead yelled. Drake's radio blared to life and he adjusted the volume knob.  
"We have reports that a squadron of Osean aircraft just bombed the engineering college," came in over the civilian radio.  
"All units operating in sector Charlie Omega, attacks on civilians are forbidden. Cease fire immediately," Thunderhead ordered.  
"That's right near us…" Archer started.  
"Hell that where we're supposed to be," Chopper said, cutting him off. "Do you see those idiots anywhere?" Drake scanned the sky but couldn't see any planes.  
"I'm no joy, my picture's clear," Archer replied.  
"Yeah, I can't see anything either," Drake put in.  
"Wardog, did you engage in an attack on a civilian complex?" Thunderhead asked Blaze.  
"No we did not," Blaze replied calmly.  
"Yeah weren't you watching from up there?" Chopper quipped. Drake wholeheartedly agreed with him. There weren't too many transports or escorts left, so Drake was just mopping up. Soon there wasn't any planes left in the airspace.  
"Wardog squadron is to report immediately to Oured," an official sounding voice issued from the radio, "Repeat, all combatants in Wardog squadron are to report to the capital city Oured immediately." Drake got the feeling that although they had won the battle, they were going right into another.  



	8. Trust

8.  
Trust

The waiting room smelled of tobacco smoke and stale beer. Drake was sitting in an overstuffed chair, on edge. He had on a pressed and starched white dress uniform. Under the left breast pocket was the purple heart he had earned from a training exercise the had gone awry. But previous narrow escapes were the least of his worries, Wardog squadron was being court marshaled for apparently disobeying orders. A set of doors opened to his left, and Blaze walked calmly out.  
"How'd it go?" Drake asked, standing up. Blaze took a minute to study the ceiling before answering, "Like hell. You're up next, brandy and scotch when this is all over." Drake smiled as Blaze walked out and an MP called his name. Drake stood up, straightened his shirt, then walked through the double doors into a darkened room. His purposeful gait concealed his nervousness and anxiety. He walked into a circle of light, slid into attention, and snapped a crisp salute.  
"First Lieutenant Drake Draca reporting as requested," he yelled, not being able to see past his island of luminosity.  
"Yes yes, we're right here. You don't need to shout," a husky voice said from the darkness. Some lights came on which backlit a group of eight people. Drake couldn't discern their expressions, but from the way they sat he could tell they weren't happy.  
"Lieutenant Draca," a female voice said, "At ease. Welcome." Drake was surprised by the warmness of the greeting.  
"Lieutenant, we have some questions to ask you. You do know that failure to answer truthfully will result in even more sever punishments?"  
"I am aware of my obligations," Drake replied dryly. Someone shuffled some papers as another cleared their throat.  
"All right, lets start simple. Where were you yesterday at 01120?"  
"I was up in the air with my squadron on a sortie."  
"What was the purpose of the mission?" another female voice asked.  
"Our mission was to eliminate a group of transport planes carrying troops and supplies from the engagement on the shore. We ran into a spot of trouble when they brought in a couple of aircraft equipped with radar jamming devices."  
"Did you at any time engage in an attack on a civilian facility?"  
"No sir."  
"Is it possible some of your missiles locked on to the college and inadvertently destroyed it?"  
"Impossible ma'm," Drake replied sternly.  
"How is that?" Drake was getting annoyed at all the obvious questions.  
"Listen, we were nearly twelve thousand feet up in the air. All those missiles have electronic fail-safes that detonate the warhead when all the propellant is expended. They wouldn't even reach the ground from that height. So no, there was no possible way that an expended missile hit a building."  
"So if you didn't intentionally attack the college, and it wasn't an accident, how do you suppose this happened, Lieutenant Draca?"  
"I can only offer speculations sir."  
"Please, lets hear them."  
"Well sir, I think this was the work of a rouge squadron within the Osean air force."  
"Yours was the only registered squad in that area. Are you saying we have unaccounted-for squadrons in our air force?"  
"Like I said, just speculations. Although, I did hear a squadron number through the static on my radio."  
"What was it?"  
"I think it was 8-4-9-2."  
"Oh no not that again," one of the men said irritably. Others just grumbled.  
"Sir?" Drake asked timidly.  
"You honestly expect us to believe that bullshit? Why don't you just admit you screwed up? It'd make things a whole lot easier on yourselves."  
"I swear sir that everything I have said is the truth. You can believe it or not, but I stick with my story one hundred percent."  
"Ugh, just go, we're done here. We'll let you know what we decide later."  
"Thank you sir," Drake said saluting. As he turned around and walked out he heard the people whispering together. For some reason he felt a sense of relief, now that it was all over.


End file.
